


Dulcet In Agony

by CalamityCain



Series: Bad Things Happen To Underage Loki [5]
Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Pedophilia, Self-cest, Time Travel, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 16:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: Old, sly, and twisted as ever (if not more), Loki intends to pay his brother a visit; instead he slips through time and ends up in the bedroom of his much younger, unbroken self. As usual, Loki can never leave well enough alone...





	Dulcet In Agony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citizenjess (givehimonemore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/gifts), [patientalien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/gifts).



> I blame this on the lovely conversations about nasty things with citizenjess. Hope you like it <3

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A sharp, sulphurous tang scorched the silent air as he ripped through the fabric of reality to land, all graceless elbows and knees, in the bedchamber of his youth.

 _Well._ This was a surprise. But not necessarily a setback.

He rose and straightened his bent back. _Ach,_ he was getting old in some parts. Yet there was life in him yet; he felt that old thrill and merriment enlivening his aging bones, his time-stretched sinews. He wondered if his heavier, grey-bearded brother could boast such a spring in his step. Thor the once-a-king was due a visit; oh, but he would dance circles around that fool. Perhaps taunt him with the challenge of one last duel.

At least, that had been the plan: to stride triumphant into the mouldering ruins that no doubt constituted Thor’s current hideaway for a final dance. Instead he had taken a tumble through time and space to arrive at a familiar room, one that stirred such strange and tender feelings as to alarm him. Pesky things; such thoughts that made you weak. For his own good, he would be better off returning to the reality he now occupied.

Instead he found himself rooted where he was. Peering down at his younger self.

At first, the sight invited nothing but scorn. Was he really once this soft, harmless creature? All smooth limbs and soft parted lips, the mop of wavy hair still with a hint of babyish curls. No longer a child, to be sure, but not quite of age either. The face that was full of slyness and knife-like smiles (before it learnt to better hide its intentions) was guileless in sleep.

As he let his gaze linger, his lips could not help but turn upward with pride. If nothing else, he had been a fine-looking boy.

This boy now turned over in bed as a soft sigh escaped those half-parted lips. Caught in the last threads of a nightmare, young Loki struggled with the paralysis that prevents all dreamers from leaving their beds to pursue whatever phantoms dreams may bring. As the edge of the quilted blanket slipped down past his waist, old Loki saw the flash of a bare behind – a perfectly tight curve, impertinent in its nakedness.

“Little tramp,” he hissed – louder than he intended. The boy murmured something; his eyelids fluttered open.

He saw a tall, gaunt, grinning man towering over his bed, and let out a yelp. In the next second a knife glimmered in his hand. Ah yes, Loki remembered; that little dagger he kept beneath his pillow, and rarely had reason to use. Until now. Before it could make its desired mark, he caught the boy’s wrist and twisted, drawing a whimper of pain. The blade clattered to the floor.

 _Who are you?_ The question flashed across the boy’s bright eyes. Instead he asked the far more important question: “What do you want?” Good; already those wits already sharpening.

“I wanted to meet your – our – dear brother for an intimate rendezvous,” Old Loki said. “But I’ll gladly take my pleasure with you…or shall I say, myself?”

A series of expressions flitted across young Loki’s face as realisation clashed with confusion. “You’re looking for Thor?” was followed by “You’re m-me. From the future.”

“Quick on the uptake. As I expected.” He pinned down his younger self’s wrists, making the brief mistake of not watching those lightning-quick feet –

 _POW!_ There it was – a foot to the belly, a knee to the loins, and suddenly he felt like little more than a foolish old man. The boy rolled off the bed and recovered his knife, brandishing it with no small amount of skill. “I don’t know what your game is,” he said, a fierce glare covering up the fear Loki knew was there. “It is Thor who will be king, and inherit most of Asgard’s treasures. I’ve nothing to offer.”

“Oh, but you’ve plenty to offer,” Loki wheezed with a smile as sharp as his old knife now being used against him. “You just don’t know it yet.”

He snapped his fingers, and long serpentine cords leapt out to ensnare the boy. Those young reflexes, the strength in those bare coltish legs, were no match for such old and well-honed magic. In the space of a breath, young Loki was securely bound and struggling in a manner his older self found most appealing. The youth had yet to learn the folly of fighting enchanted bonds; the more he writhed, the stronger they became. “Thor!!” came the cry for help.

“He can’t save you this time, little one.” As young Loki stubbornly cried out again, he waved his hand and a conjured length of fabric formed a secure gag that reduced the yelling to subdued whimpers. 

He pushed the tunic up that smooth nubile torso to reveal two perfect pink nipples. “Mmnnghh nngffh hnnghh,” the boy pleaded, all ferocity gone. His eyes followed the older man’s hands as they roamed his body, stroking and pinching and touching him in places no one else ever had. His cheeks turned a most fetching pink. Loki kissed them, savouring the baby-soft flesh. “Such a fleeting thing, the sweetness of youth. _My_ youth.” His smile deepened at the wide eyes full of disbelief. “Still don’t believe me, do you? The tragedy of what you eventually become?” He leaned closer until his lips were brushing the curve of that lovely neck, the delicate earlobe. 

“I’ll tell you something only you know. Something that won’t stay secret forever.” And he whispered the incriminating words that burnt those flushed cheeks a deeper red and made the boy squirm. He gripped young Loki’s chin hard enough to hurt. “Don’t shake your head at me, boy. Do you really think I don’t know my own heart?” He cackled bitterly. “Back when I still had one, anyhow.”

 _“Nngffhh.”_ A guilt-heavy sob.

“Don’t torment yourself over it. You cannot help loving him. Few can.” He tilted his head, letting his senses wander. “I hear him. He slumbers away just next door. If I concentrate, I can feel the very pace of his breath. Shall I whisper into his ear next…tell him of your unbrotherly feelings?” 

“ _Nnnnh._ Dnnt dffhh.”

“He’ll find out soon, you know. Very soon. If this old man’s memory recalls correctly.” He let his hand slide between the boy’s legs, feeling the soft cock twitch and grow firm. “Even now your body tells me how you want him. _Exactly_ how. With his large cock filling you full of seed, marking you as his and him as yours. You would belong to no other.” He stroked that perfectly curved sex, enjoying how easily it yielded its first drops of pre-come. “You wish him to declare his undying love for you, in your foolish heart of hearts. When he declares it for Lady Sif instead, you will be driven to chop off her hair, your envy so great that it turns her golden locks dark when they grow back.”

Fingers slicked with the glistening fluid, he slid them into that tight, warm ring of muscle below, feeling it grow hot and clench at the intrusion. A muffled cry of pain – he was not being gentle. He knew the boy could take it. This nubile body would grow to be a beautiful vessel for pleasure, for agony, for use and abuse in countless ways.

“Your desire haunts you,” he continued. “Each day you both grow more beautiful – even if you see only his beauty and not your own – and each day your heart will ache more, more, until it drives you mad and you shield your love with loathing. Yet were he to bind you with a collar with his name on it, you would gladly wear it. So deep is your longing. To belong.” He pushed two fingers in, harder this time, and the boy started to cry; not from the pain, but from the shame of being flayed open, his secrets exposed.

“I will give you what you wish your dearest brother would. To prepare you for when he finally takes you. So be thankful, my lovely.” He conjured the vessel of oil and slicked himself with it, as well as the opening he was about to ravish. The ultimate act of masturbation.

“Be thankful,” he whispered, “for the inevitable.”

He cast a sphere of silence about them, then removed the boy’s gag as he plunged in. All the better to hear those sweet, sweet cries. He closed his eyes and let them sink in, as if his pores could drink in that lost youth from the sensation of his own debasement. The boy sobbed deliciously with each thrust. Had he ever been capable of such melodious sounds, his voice so full, so dulcet in agony? 

“Think of him,” he urged his younger self. “Think of his cock, not mine, filling you as deeply as you’ve always wanted.” In the throes of pleasure an idea struck him, and he felt his features and skin and muscle rearrange themselves, fair hair sprouting from his head until he resembled… 

“T-Thor,” came the ragged gasp.

Old Loki, wearing the form of his golden brother on the cusp of manhood, smiled beatifically. “Loki, my love.” His words rolled out in that sonorous deepening voice. “My only love." 

“Brother?” Loki rasped. “It – can’t be – ”

“Shush. Let me give you what you need, Loki.” He rocked his hips forward, drawing out a raw tremulous sound of need, of guilt, of lust as ripe as a fruit bursting with its own juices. Oh, the beauty of that face, like a flower coming into bloom – nay, forced to bloom, the petals parted before their time, and yet no less beautiful for the aberrant act. He slid a thumb between the soft panting lips, pressing down on the boy’s tongue, garbling and stifling the wanton moans. It seemed an indeterminate time before he orgasmed with a hoarse groan – Norns, but it had been an eternity since he’d achieved such bliss. He let himself stayed nestled inside until his softening sex was well and truly sated. And then, almost lazily, he brought his younger self to release. He owed himself that much.

Old-Loki-as-Thor removed the cords and cradled the boy in strong arms that could so easily break those slender limbs. The boy murmured his brother’s name half-senselessly, still dazed from the encounter. 

“I’m here, Loki,” he whispered as he enveloped the parted mouth in a kiss. The illusion dropped away with a slithering sound. He watched the boy’s features crumble into naked horror and confusion as he pulled back.

“What’s the matter, dearest?” he taunted in the remnants of Thor’s hearty rumble. “Am I not looking like myself?”

Young Loki did not reply, but covered his face with his hands, only to have them torn away. “Stop being a snivelling idiot!” His amusement tainted by impatience, he slapped his younger self, taking strange satisfaction at the livid reddish mark left by his hand. “Did I not tell you that you will have what you want in time?” He gripped the boy’s slim wrist hard enough to bruise.

“Look me in the eye. _Listen._ You will have _everything_ you want…if you are willing to pay the price.” With another hand he gripped the dark wavy hair and pulled young Loki in, forcing a kiss on those downturned lips. “Let that be a lesson to you. With love, from your future self.”

“Let me go,” came the defeated reply. “Leave me. Just…leave.” 

As he stepped back to behold the mess of huddled limbs, the tear-streaked face, he wondered what repercussions this little adventure would have on his current existence. His very sense of being. Would he return only to fall into some crazed delirium as a result of what he had inflicted upon his past self?

Perhaps he should wipe the boy’s memories. But then, would it mean he himself would have no recollection of this encounter? That _would_ be a shame. It had been such a delight.

In the end, he settled on temporary oblivion. He blew a spell over the boy; watched his younger self cough and struggle before giving in to the cloud of gold-tinged dust.

“Go to sleep, sweet child.” The dark-lashed eyelids grew heavy and the boy slumped back on the pillows. Old Loki waved his hand over his body, erasing the stains of their spend, cleaning away all outward signs of ravishment, down to the marks his hands had left. In mere seconds, the slumbering boy looked as pure and unsullied as ever.

He reopened the gash he had made in the space-time continuum, hoping to find his brother (beloved, loathed, eternal foe and lover) on the other side this time. Just before he stepped through the hole, he wondered what other repercussions his brief, impulsive indulgence would have. 

But then his lips turned incorrigibly upward, and he let loose a small, mad laugh. Finding out would be another great adventure. He slipped through the opening and disappeared with a crack, leaving nothing but a trace of an acrid, burning smell.

 

*

 


End file.
